There Was Nothing He Could Do
by vapourtrailreads
Summary: "It is exceptionally lonely, being Draco Malfoy... There is no escaping the past." Rated T for mild violence and possible disturbing content.


A/N: Events of pre-Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows from Draco's POV. (based off books)

WARNING: Spoilers for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

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 **There Was Nothing He Could Do**

The tall blonde man dressed in black patted his son's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Draco swallowed his fear and nodded.

Lucius surveyed his son for a moment with a look of pride and at the same time, a lingering wisp of pity. "It'll be over before you know it." He glanced at the door like it was a drooling wolf, then hastily looked away again. "It is a great honour to serve at the right hand of the Dark-"

"I know." Draco blinked rapidly, then stood. "I'm ready, Father."

His father gave him a wistful smile as he closed the door behind him. Draco let out an unsteady breath before turning to face Voldemort. The Dark Lord and a few of his Death Eaters – Yaxley and Dolohov, Draco thought – were waiting by the fireplace. The two wizards hovered uncertainly in the background, watching their master's every move. He wondered what Potter would do in this situation. Probably something stupid, like tackling Voldemort without a wand or trying to Disarm him with Expelliarmus or some other less potent spell. He nearly smirked at that but caught himself in time. It wasn't safe to think of such things in this house – the _thing_ in the armchair made sure of that. One blink and all your deepest secrets could be exposed. Draco's Occlumency was good, but not that good. Yet.

"Ah, Draco," Voldemort's high voice slashed through the air, and a chill raced down Draco's spine like a Snitch down the Quidditch pitch. "You have made your choice, I presume?"

 _Like I had a choice in the first place._ Draco wanted to scream, wanted to grab his wand and bring down the chandelier, but he knew better than to unleash a wave of teenage angst upon the most dangerous Dark wizard of the present day. Instead he bowed meekly and replied, "I have, my Lord."

Voldemort's thin lips curled in what Draco supposed was a smile. "Excellent."

Yaxley stepped out of the shadows and advanced towards him. Draco reflexively took a step back, but Dolohov was there, soulless black eyes boring into his back, a sentinel stationed there to prevent any escape. Draco shrank away from the both of them, but there was no way out now.

He said a prayer in his head as Yaxley grabbed his arm.

He didn't remember much of the incident except that a) it had hurt a lot, and b) he had been sure that nothing else would ever be as painful. Now he was starting to reconsider.

Not for the first time, Draco Malfoy bit back a scream as he watched the scene unfold. His Aunt Bellatrix's screeching rang hollowly in his ears, mingled with enraged shouts from the cellar below.

"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? _Where?_ "

"We found it – we found it – PLEASE!" Hermione screamed and writhed on the floor, but Bellatrix had too strong a hold on her… he wanted to turn away and run up to his room, but his parents were there, watching him. Always watching.

Ron's muffled yelling echoed in the hall. "HERMIONE!"

He'd never thought it possible, but in that moment, he would have given anything to be Ron, trapped in the cellar shouting her name. At least then he would have had leave to scream as much as he wanted without any consequences. All he could do was stand there, and listen, and watch. He licked his lips for the umpteenth time and tasted the faint salt of dried tears.

"What else did you take, what else?" shrieked Bellatrix. "ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"

The next scream felt like it was directed at him, like she was asking _him_ for help. Half of him wanted to cringe and lock himself away. The other half wanted to pull Bellatrix off her and… he didn't know what he would do after that, so he pushed the thoughts away and did what he did best.

He watched. He waited.

He did nothing.

After all, there was nothing he could do.

All of a sudden, his father's voice sounded. "…we can find out easily!" he said gleefully, "Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

Glad of the feeble excuse for a reprieve, Draco headed towards the cellar. He heard scuffling noises coming from the room, but he didn't heed it.

"Stand back," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything, or I'll kill you!"

He nearly laughed at the last part. He knew how pathetic he sounded, like a scared child with a toy wand. Draco unlocked the door and did as he was bidden. All the while he was painfully aware of Dean's gritted teeth, Ron's jagged breathing and Harry's accusing eyes.

The last thing he noticed as the door swung shut were three sets of eyes glaring hatefully at him, and a familiar-sounding crack…

Draco lay curled up on the floor of Malfoy Manor, vaguely aware of blood drying on his face and his mother sobbing. The Dark Mark throbbed on his arm like a healing bruise that had just been kicked.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a heavy wooden chair tumble through the air as Voldemort yelled in fury, taking out his anger on anything he could see. Off to the side, Bellatrix cowered in fear, hands coiled protectively around her stomach.

They had escaped.

Narcissa's shoulders shook violently as she hugged her son; Lucius kneeled beside them, horror etched into his pale face.

 _They had escaped._

And Voldemort couldn't do anything about it.

Draco lifted his head off the wooden flooring and leaned on his mother. Dimly, he wished she wouldn't squeeze him so much.

He watched Voldemort split the long black table in the dining room in half, his white reptilian face twisted in rage, and, for the first time in months, Draco suppressed a genuine smile.

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Fandom: Harry Potter

Venue: Malfoy Manor

Time: Pre-Half-Blood Prince, Deathly Hallows

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Welp idk what this is please give feedback !


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